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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823757">Flor de Humedad</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipericoLotus/pseuds/HipericoLotus'>HipericoLotus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imputing Missingness [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:13:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>473</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823757</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipericoLotus/pseuds/HipericoLotus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky’d fit right in with the grunge scene, Sam tells Steve once they run out of leads. Stereotypical Seattle seems like the perfect place for a defrocked superhero to wander aimlessly, hope fruitlessly and sigh mournfully</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Wilson/Bean Pie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Imputing Missingness [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/989652</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Flor de Humedad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Flor de humedad (Flower of Moisture) is actually a song about Buenos Aires. Just go with it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky’d fit right in with the grunge scene, Sam tells Steve once they run out of leads. Stereotypical Seattle seems like the perfect place for a defrocked superhero to wander aimlessly, hope fruitlessly and sigh mournfully. Maybe some hardcore Cascadia separatists will buy them a drink. </p>
<p>Not that grunge is a thing here anymore. Seattleites mostly seem to wear Urban Outfitters these days. Still, it’s a great place to people-watch. There’s a guy at Pike Place with a live possum riding on his shoulder, a barefoot commuter on the Ave outside of the coffeeshop Sam drags Steve into when he gets even more frustrating and impossible than usual. Steve should star in the next hangry Snicker commercial </p>
<p>The place is a cheerful yellow, None of the clunky mugs match, and earrings dangle from the edges of the lampshades like haphazard fringes. There are some vegan and nondairy options, a tray of PBJ and a host of other oddities that serve as comfort food to overcaffeinated students. Sam does a double take when he spots a bean pie under the glass countertop. </p>
<p>Steve is even grumpier than he was before they stepped through the door, so Sam sends him off to sulk at a table while he orders for both of them. It takes two trips to bring everything over. By the time they’ve decimated half of the spoils, Steve’s nervous energy has dissipated somewhat, replaced by an idle curiosity that seems somewhat forced. The clinician in Sam assesses affect, behavior and cognition in a specimen that goes from being dominated by id to superego in minutes. Food’s effect on the psyche will never cease to amaze. </p>
<p>Steve motions at Sam’s violently purple mug. “What are you drinking?” </p>
<p>“This South American stuff my sister loves,” Sam answers. “It’s not bad with milk.” </p>
<p>Steve’s raging hunger seems to be instantly back - sans hunger. The flash of anger fades fast, though. He deflates, looking tired. Homesick, maybe. </p>
<p>Sam thinks of the foodstuffs that tend to show up on their doormat whenever Natasha feels the need to needle the two of them. A bottle of Malbec, a roll of salami, artisanal alfajores, opaque dulce de leche in a brown cardboard tub labeled by hand. Fresh pastries, once. He thought at first that  it was just Natasha warning them that they were easy to find, or suggesting a country in which new leads might turn up. Now he wonders. </p>
<p>Sam offers him the mate drink. He has the feeling that if he’d done this every day since they met, Steve would have said no each time. Today, though, Steve hesitates. Reaches for the mug and sets it in front of him on the table. Leans forward slightly, breathes deep. The scent seems to calm him. </p>
<p>He takes a sip, and a smile Sam hasn’t seen before shows itself.</p>
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